


sixteen wins

by nightswatch



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Hockey, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 17:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19178314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: When the Aces get another chance at winning the Cup, Kent is secretly hoping that he and Jeff might bring back an unconventional part of their pregame routine.





	sixteen wins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/gifts).



> I had several prompts to choose from and I ended up going with this one:
> 
> "How about something about the Aces winning the Stanley Cup? I'm always hoping for the Golden Knights to win it, so I'd love something about the imaginary team winning it. The stress and exhaustion in the playoffs? What happens after? Ill-advised post-win hookups or declarations of love? Five questions Kent and the team got really sick of answering the summer after they won? What people do with their Cup days?"
> 
> I wasn't able to fit all of that into the fic, but I hope you like it!
> 
> Also, big thanks to my beta who will remain anonymous for now :)

**Round 1**

 

_Game 1_

 

Jeff falls on his ass the morning before their first playoff game.

Kent watches it happen and he’d find it funny if they weren’t about to play their first playoff game. If Jeff is hurt, all their chances at winning the Cup likely just flew out the window.

“Fuck,” Jeff says.

“You okay?” Kent says and hurries down the hallway. There’s a puddle on the floor from fuck knows what and Jeff is sitting right in the middle of it, looking dazed, eyes comically large as he stares up at Kent, who must be looming over him like some sort of vengeful angel.

Kent isn’t a fighter, but if there was any point in punching that puddle of water, he would.

“Swoops, dude...” Kent kneels down so they’re pretty much eye-to-eye. “Did you break your ass?”

“I think I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Kent echoes.

“But, yeah, maybe a little butt-hurt,” Jeff says, grins, tries to get to his feet and fucking slips again. He’s in flip-flops. “Maybe I’ll just lie here and become one with the floor.”

“Get up right now.”

“Oh, it’s the scary captain voice, I’d better get up right now, because otherwise,” he smirks at Kent, “the captain will spank my poor ass.”

Kent rolls his eyes and starts walking away. Slowly. In case Jeff needs help. “I can’t believe I was worried about you.”

“Kenneth, you were worried?” Jeff says. “Wait, come back.”

Kent looks over his shoulder to find that Jeff has finally struggled to his feet. Kent flips him off. “No,” he says.

“Look at my ass,” Jeff grumbles and turns around to show Kent that his atrocious ripped jeans shorts have a huge wet stain on the back. Jeff doesn’t know how to dress himself unless he has to put on a suit. He does know how to do that, but that’s just about everything he knows. It’s like one of the Russians has been giving him fashion advice.

“I’d rather not,” Kent replies. Except Jeff has a pretty stellar ass, even when it’s in jeans shorts, but Kent obviously can’t admit that. Anyway, all hockey players have good asses; Kent has seen plenty. Jeff isn’t special.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Jeff says as he breezes past him, flip-flops loudly flip-flopping as he walks to their locker room.

Kent follows him slowly, grinning about the onslaught of raunchy commentary when Jeff walks into the room in his wet shorts.

Jeff seems to be in good spirits as he gets his gear on, Kent in the stall next to him, watching every move he makes. Just to make sure that he didn’t get hurt and is now hiding it so he’ll get to play tonight. It’s the first round, it’s okay to sit out games. In all honestly, if someone decided to sit out Game 7 in the finals because of an injury, Kent would tell them that it’s okay, too. He doesn’t want any of his guys risking their career for one game. If they’re part of the team, they’re part of the team, it doesn’t matter if they’re on the ice or in the press box.

They really don’t need another injury, though. Isakson might come back for Round 2, should they make it to Round 2, but Turner is out for the rest of the season, had to have surgery and is looking at four to six months, and Riotta will be out for four weeks if they’re lucky, six or longer if the Hockey Gods decide that they hate them this year.

Kent really wants Riotta back. He’s good with Swoops on his line, but he’s even better with Swoops and Riot.

He waits until most of the guys have left the locker room, then he turns to Jeff. “You didn’t hit your head, right?” He honestly isn’t sure. He saw him fall and he’s convinced that Jeff kept his head up enough that it didn’t hit the floor, but there’s this nagging doubt.

Jeff had a concussion two years ago and it was a bad one that kept him off the ice for months, and Kent’s worst nightmare is probably Jeff getting another concussion. He’s been okay for the past two years, except for a mild ankle sprain last season, but Kent hasn’t stopped worrying ever since.

“No, I’m okay,” Jeff says.

“Really?”

“Really.” Jeff gently pats Kent’s back. “You’ll have me on your line tonight, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Uh-huh,” Jeff says and waddles away.

“I wasn’t,” Kent calls after him.

Jeff waves him off without looking back at him.

Kent sighs and grabs his helmet.

It’s a good thing that Jeff managed not to break anything. Between the two of them, they score four goals to win the game that night.

 

 

_Game 2_

 

Phoenix won’t go down without a fight. Kent knows that. He knows. There’s nothing worse than thinking you’ve already won a series when it was, in fact, only two games.

Kent still goes out to celebrate with the boys after they win Game 2 as well and listens to a tipsy Jeff trying to explain black holes to Scrappy.

 

 

_Game 3_

 

Kent and Jeff have been roommates on the road ever since Jeff first got called up. Two weeks before they clinched the playoff spot the year they won the Cup. Kent’s roommate during that season, Ellis O’Reilly, a quiet and polite guy and a new addition to the team that season, broke his collarbone and that was it for him that season. He became a free agent after and he didn’t re-sign with the Aces. Kent liked him, would have liked him to stay, too, but he got Jeff in return, so he won’t complain too much.

Jeff is his best friend.

Jeff knows him and likes him anyway.

Jeff saves him every fucking day. Or at least every fucking time Kent threatens to become everyone’s least favorite version of himself.

He hasn’t been _that_ Kent in a long time. He sometimes makes an appearance when he gets frustrated, after a rough loss maybe, and then Jeff will take him aside, or even just give him a look, and Kent will take a deep breath and go through the list of things that used to help him when he got like this, when he wanted to either hide or snap at everyone who dared to speak to him.

Most of the time he takes Jeff home with him and they watch a movie and Kent talks Jeff into making chocolate fudge and they pour it over fruit, or over ice cream, or over M&Ms if Kent has nothing else. They tried it with popcorn once. And with baby carrots. That was a mistake.

Jeff is his guy.

Kent loves his guy.

He’s kissed Jeff exactly seven times.

Seven years ago.

First, it was a good luck kiss in Vegas before their first game in the final round of playoffs. Jeff was staying with Kent back then, just an AHL call-up, and Kent, being the captain, offered him his guest room. They were close, even back then, even when Kent didn’t want anyone closer than strictly necessary.

Jeff quickly wormed his way into Kent’s heart. He cooked for him, and Kit – after trying to scratch his eyes out the first time she met him – warmed up to him faster than she’d ever warmed up to anyone else.

They were on their way out the door, both of them giddy with excitement, and Kent was pulling on his shoes and when he stood up straight there was Jeff, grinning down at him, brown eyes crinkled, and to this day, Kent doesn’t know who leaned in first, but if it was him, Jeff definitely met him halfway.

They kissed.

And then Jeff said, “For good luck.”

And Kent nodded, and two days later they did it again. For good luck.

They did it seven times and then they won the Cup and, once things had settled down enough that they at least weren’t drunk anymore, Kent pulled Jeff aside and told him that it would never happen again.

Not just because Jeff was a teammate and Kent couldn’t just go around making out with his teammates before games – because that’s what it was, at least before Game 7. They were really, properly making out, hands in each other’s hair, nothing at all like that innocent little kiss before Game 1.

They haven’t made it to the final round since then, but they did go to Conference Finals two seasons ago. And Kent kept wondering if they’d maybe do it again if they made it to the final round. Just because it worked so well last time. Kent never found out, because they lost the Conference Finals and that was it for them. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it.

Anyway, it wasn’t that they had to stop just because they’re teammates. It’s the main reason, but back then Kent was in no way ready to have any emotions that were directed at another living being, unless it was his cat. It took him a while to get over that. He’s had an emotion or two since then. He made it out on the other side. And he and Jack are talking, sometimes, like civilized people, but Kent has stopped wondering, has stopped imagining futures that will never be theirs.

Kent has very much kept his mouth shut ever since Jack came out to the entire world, but the mood in the Aces’ locker room has gotten a little lighter since Carl got traded. Kent has told some of the guys. In private. Jeff has known for a while. He told Scraps, too, when he was really drunk and really sad after Jack won the Cup.

“That’s okay, Parser,” Scraps told him.

It’s been three years and they never mentioned it again.

With Jeff it’s different, because he doesn’t just know about Kent. Kent knows something about him, too, although he’s not exactly sure what it is that he knows. That Jeff likes to kiss teammates for good luck? That he’s into guys? They never mentioned it again either, except for maybe one or two slip-ups along the way, but Kent really didn’t forget all about it like he promised himself he would.

Kent has been thinking about it.

Kent is thinking about it now and they haven’t even made it through the first round.

After their first game in Phoenix, they’re a little closer, though. They win the game and it almost seems too easy, the way the puck is flying into the net for them.

But they’ll take the easy win. They all know that it might be the last easy one.

 

 

_Game 4_

 

They win Game 4 in double overtime.

By the time Jeff scores the game winning goal, Kent is so exhausted that he doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to win another twelve games and – potentially – play another twenty-one.

If they make it, he sure as fuck hopes he doesn’t have to play twenty-one games to get there.

He hugs Jeff, clings to him, because maybe Jeff wants to keep him upright, and then the other guys barrel into them and everyone’s grinning at Jeff and screaming his name and Kent is still hugging him, because his boy just gave them a sweep. Maybe they’ll have to call him Sweeps instead of Swoops now.

They’ll go home and Coach will probably let them have a day off. Maybe two.

Kent has to eventually detangle himself from his teammates, because he’s the captain and it’s honestly just unkind to make the team that lost wait, especially after a sweep. He’s been on the losing side so many times and he always considered it a mercy when they were allowed to make a quick exit after a playoff loss.

“Hey, Parse,” Jeff says when they’re on their way down the tunnel. “Chocolate fudge when we’re back in Vegas?”

“My place tomorrow,” Kent says, because Jeff doesn’t have any kids at home, but Kent does and he needs to spend some quality time with his sweetheart, to make sure she still knows that he loves her.

Jeff knows that, too. He laughs and says, “If you’re able to stay awake long enough, old man.”

Kent scoffs at him. Yeah, they’ll go out after the game, and yeah, they’ll all get drunk because they deserve a party after this, and yeah, Kent is getting progressively worse at dealing with hangovers and long nights out. He’s turning twenty-nine in July and twenty-nine isn’t actually old, not in the grand scheme of things, and he’s basically peaking as a hockey player, but he can’t help but think about how he only has a few seasons left. He doesn’t know how many.

They’ve made the second round a few times ever since they won the Cup seven years ago, but they only made it to Conference Finals once. He won’t get that many more chances.

He wants it this year.

He wants it every year, but they’re not getting any younger.

Jeff is a year younger than him. He was a small baby child when he first won the Cup with the Aces. So was Kent, in all honesty, but for Jeff it was actually his first NHL appearance. He wasn’t even supposed to stay for the playoffs.

They sent him back down the season after, then he came back, ended up on Kent’s line, and that’s where he’s been ever since.

Jeff wraps his arms around him from behind and they waddle down the tunnel together.

 

* * *

 

 

**Round 2**

 

_Game 1_

 

There’s really no consensus if a sweep is good for a team in the long run when they end up playing a team that’s coming off a seven-game series.

You could say the Aces are well-rested, might have more energy, but they did go a week without playing a game and the Aeros are still right in the middle of things, going from one game to the nextwhile the Aces have been yanked out of it all, watching from the sidelines as they waited for their opponent to be decided. Half the team watched the Aeros’ Game 7 at Kent’s place, Kit glaring at them from the top of her cat tree, ignoring everyone who dared to approach her.

Playing against the Aeros means home ice for Aces, so they don’t have to leave Vegas just yet. Playing against the Aeros also means that several guys already hold grudges, that they’ll likely have their first fighting major of the series tonight, and that Kent needs to make sure they don’t get caught up in what happened last year.

They lost against the Aeros in the second round last year. In Game 7. It was bloody. Literally.

There.

That’s all the thoughts Kent will waste on the subject.

At least until Jeff says, “I’m going to bash Frankie Raymond’s head in tonight,” while they’re putting on their gear for warmups.

“You go, Swoops,” Scraps shouts. “Swoop his ass.”

Kent shakes his head at Scraps and turns to Jeff. “No, you won’t.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I need you in the game. And I also need you in the next game. Because you’d sure as fuck get suspended for bashing someone’s head in.”

“That was a figure of speech, Parser,” Jeff says.

“I don’t give a shit what it was. You’re not touching him.”

“You’re not my mom, Kensington.”

“Shut the hell up.” Kent slaps the back of Jeff’s head, very, very gently, because Jeff’s head is generally off limits. “Put on your jersey and forget that Frankie Raymond even exists.”

“Can _I_ bash Frankie Raymond’s head in?” Bennie asks from across the room.

Kent only rolls his eyes at him.

None of his guys touch Frankie Raymond. But Frankie Raymond tries to drop the gloves with Jeff during a scrum in the second period and Jeff sticks out his chin, like he’s about to go all in. Kent thinks he will and is just as surprised as Frankie Raymond when his gloves go flying but Jeff’s stay on.

Jeff is grinning when Frankie Raymond gets escorted to the penalty box.

Kent scores the game winner on that penalty.

“That was a good move,” Kent tells Jeff after the game.

“Told you I’d bash his head in.”

Kent frowns at him.

“You know, figuratively.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Kent says, but grins when Jeff slaps him in the face with a towel.

 

 

_Game 2_

 

The Aces feel unstoppable.

Game 2 is a 5-0 blow-out and the Aeros slink off the ice, their captain patting everyone’s head as they head to their locker room. Kent knows what he’ll tell them, because he’s told his own guys a billion times before. It’s only two games, they can still win the series.

Nothing’s certain during the playoffs.

The Aces could lose four games in a row. Things go wrong. People get injured. It’s too easy to lose a lead, too easy to get wrapped up in a false sense of security.

“How are you feeling?” one of the reporters asks him after the game.

“Pretty good,” Kent says, and grins.

Six straight wins.

Pretty good.

 

 

_Game 3_

 

They drop Game 3.

Everything goes wrong.

Kent loses a skate blade, loses the puck in the process, and they get scored on.

The first goal they score is disallowed because of goaltender interference. If you ask Kent, it definitely wasn’t goaltender interference.

Jeff gets tripped, exchanges some choice words with one of the Aeros’ alternate captains, and ends up being the one who gets put in the box. And the Aces get scored on.

Sunny gets mad when one of the Aeros won’t stay out of his crease. The Aeros don’t like that Sunny keeps shoving their guy. There’s some pushing and shoving and somehow the Aces walk out of that scrum shorthanded. And they get scored on.

Scraps scores them a goal from the blue line with an assist from Kent two minutes before the end of the game when Coach has pulled their goalie, but it doesn’t do much in the end.

The game ends with a score of 4-1.

They haven’t lost in a while, so it feels way worse.

 

 

_Game 4_

 

“Can I _literally_ bash Frankie Raymond’s head in today?” Jeff asks.

“No,” says Kent. “But you can score me three goals.”

He scores him two, but, funnily enough, those two are enough to win them the game.

 

 

_Game 5_

 

They’re back in Vegas for Game 5. They could take the series today.

When Kent lies down for his pregame nap, Kit curls up next to him, at first walking all over him, tickling his nose with the tip of her tail, before she settles down next to his stomach.

“Do you think this year is our year, Princess?” Kent mumbles. “I’d totally put you in the Cup again. You probably don’t even remember the first time. You were so little. I think you were probably scared of the Cup at first, but you really liked it, I swear. Would be a nice picture to put up next to the other one.”

Kit purrs softly in reply.

“Will you root for us tonight?”

Kit doesn’t reply, but if Kent feeds her before the game, there’s a chance that she’ll be their biggest supporter tonight.

As he gets dressed for the game, he listens to Britney, Kit watching from his bed, unimpressed by his dance moves. He picks the tie his mom gave him for his birthday last year and grabs his hockey sticks tie pin. It’s a kind of good luck charm that he doesn’t use too often. It’ll lose all its power if he does.

Jeff picks him up before the game, eyes darting to Kent’s tie. “Going all out today, huh?”

Kent shrugs. He can’t say they need that win tonight, because it’s only Game 5, but he _wants_ that win. His skin is buzzing, knowing full well that this could be it, a ticket to the Conference Finals, and this time it could be so much easier than it was last time. A sweep and a 5-game series? A dream come true.

It’s a win in the end, but it’s not an easy one.

The game is tied until halfway through the third, three goals on each side, and the Aeros unwilling to let the Aces run away with this. They made it to the Conference Finals last year and then lost. It was the furthest their franchise had ever gone, but it doesn’t matter all that much if you don’t end up going all the way.

When you lose a playoff round, what gets said a lot is that there’s always next year. But sometimes you don’t even end up making it as far as you did the year before, and sometimes you don’t make it at all.

During Kent’s career with the Aces, they’ve only missed the playoffs one, the year right after they’d won the Cup. In the media they said the Aces’ Cup win was a fluke, that they were going right back to being terrible. What they didn’t mention was that the Aces got a new coach that year that none of the players seemed to get along with – least of all Kent. What they didn’t mention was that some of the new additions to the team caused the mood in the locker room to drop a little. Kent was injured for weeks that season. Worst season they’ve ever had.

The year after they signed Scraps and Kent got Jeff back halfway during the season. It got better after that.

It’s funny how one person can change a team’s dynamic.

Kent hates playing without Jeff.

He takes the boys out for drinks after the game. They go to their regular place, sit in their regular booths, and Kent orders two rounds of shots for everyone. Not everyone likes shots, so Kent ends up having more than two, then ends up in Scrappy’s lap, then ends up ordering more shots, tries to dance, tries to convince Jeff to dance with him, and protests quite a bit when Jeff tells him that it’s time to go home.

They take a cab back to Kent’s and Jeff is apparently staying at his place, because he pays the fare and gets out of the car with Kent, catching him before he can trip up his front steps.

Then he almost trips over Kit when he walks into his house. “Nooo, Princess,” he shouts, “I’m so sorry.”

Jeff picks her up. “Go and hide, Kitty, he’s fucking wasted.”

“I’m not wasted, Jefferson,” Kent says and waves him off and then plops down on the floor to untie his shoes. “Did you see the girl Sunny was talking to? Can’t believe how often that kid manages to get laid.”

Jeff laughs and it spooks Kit.

Kent almost tells him to stop scaring his princess, but what comes out of his mouth instead is, “I really miss getting laid. It’s been, like, a hundred years.”

“Jesus, Parser, just go to bed.”

“No, but… It’s so hard. To find someone. I was seeing this guy, but… eh. You know when it’s just… eh?” Kent tugs off his other shoe. _Eh_ is not great when you’re sleeping with someone, honestly. “I just wanna sit on a dick, Swoops.”

Jeff laughs. “Fuck, I hope you remember this in the morning.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s no fun to chirp you about it if you don’t,” Jeff says and wanders into Kent’s living room. “I’m sleeping on your couch.”

Kent figured as much. He’s sleeping on the floor.

“Don’t sleep there,” Jeff shouts a moment later, because he’s a fucking mind-reader.

Kent picks himself up off the floor and shuffles into the living room. “Don’t you miss sex?”

Jeff is already sprawled out on the couch with a blanket. “What makes you think I’m not having sex?”

“Are you?”

Jeff grabs another pillow in reply and makes himself comfortable without saying a word. That’s probably a no, then.

Kent flops down on the couch with a sigh. He only vaguely remembers the last time he had sex. It wasn’t exactly mind-blowing. Still, an orgasm that isn’t entirely his own doing would be great, it doesn’t even have to be mind-blowing. The bar is extremely low.

Sometimes he thinks about asking Jeff – mainly when he’s drunk, mostly on a level of drunk he’s on right now, only when he’s feeling particularly lonely – if Jeff wants to make out. Doesn’t even have to be sex. Just a kiss would be nice, because Kent misses kissing, too, almost more than he misses sex. They’ve done it before. For good luck. He obviously can’t ask, because Jeff is still his teammate, but now that they’re halfway to the Cup, Kent can’t help but wonder what will happen if they make it to the final round.

If they’ll bring back that tradition of theirs. A kiss for good luck. Before every game.

“Jeff.”

“Shut up. I’m too old to sleep on your couch in my clothes. Let me suffer in peace.”

“Okay.”

“Wow, didn’t think you’d actually listen,” Jeff mumbles.

Kent reaches out to tug at Jeff’s wrist and somehow Jeff’s fingers get tangled with his. He squeezes Jeff’s hand. Wow, he didn’t think he could miss holding someone’s hand, but now that he’s doing that, he doesn’t really want to let go. “You’re my best friend.” Which is exactly why he can’t ask Jeff if he wants to make out.

“Fuck, you’re wasted.”

“You really are.”

“I know,” Jeff says.

Kent laughs.

“What?”

“You’re like Han Solo.”

“That’s actually the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Jeff mumbles.

Kent knew it would make Jeff smile. That big nerd. He taps his thumb against Jeff’s hand. “What about that time I said that you make broccoli that isn’t disgusting.”

“Hmm…”

“Jeff?”

“Hm.”

“Are you asleep?”

“N’ya,” says Jeff, eyes closed, completely relaxed.

Kent means to let go of his hand, he really does, but he falls asleep before he can convince himself to actually do it.

 

* * *

 

 

**Round 3**

 

_Game 1_

 

They don’t have home ice against the Schooners, so they pack their bags and head to Seattle for the first game.

A lot of the guys needed some downtime after the second round. Lots and lots of maintenance days. Kent knows that a bunch of them aren’t a hundred percent but they all keep playing. They’re at a point where guys are too proud to sit in the press box. There’s definitely something still wrong with Ivan’s foot, but he never says a word about it. Kent knows it was broken, but Ivan came back for the first round. Hell knows if it healed properly.

It doesn’t sit right with Kent, but he won’t go around telling guys to sit out a game when they’ve made it halfway to the Cup.

So it’s maintenance days all around.

Kent is mostly okay, just tired, like, really fucking exhausted on some days. He takes extra long naps on his days off, makes sure to eat more because he’s losing weight like nobody’s business, and hopes for the best.

Kent has had a point in every playoff game so far. His point streak breaks during Game 1 against the Schooners.

He doesn’t get a point. In fact, none of them do.

They walk out of the Schooners’ arena with a 2-0 loss, and now it’s Kent’s turn to tell his guys that it’s only one game and that everything’s still on the table. They have to win four out of six. That’s doable.

After the game, he and Jeff go straight to bed. They don’t talk, but Jeff gives Kent a hug before he shuffles into the bathroom and Kent almost wants to run after him to hug him back.

 

 

_Game 2_

 

It’s pretty unfortunate that they lose Game 2 as well. It’s what he tells the media afterwards, too. Pretty unfortunate.

Coach has a lot to yell about.

Now they have to win four out of five games. Not ideal. But they haven’t lost four games yet, they’re still going, so he won’t fall into any of those traps they’re setting up for him during his post-game interview.

They fly straight home after the game.

Kent sleeps with his head on Jeff’s shoulder. After beating himself up about how that game went for about an hour.

 

 

_Game 3_

 

They can’t lose this one.

They can’t.

Because if they lose this one, they’ll have to win four out of four, and it’s not like that’s never happened before, but Kent knows what their chances are if they lose tonight.

So they can’t lose.

They’ll have their home crowd, which will help and the guys will be out for blood, which will either help or get them a fuckton of stupid penalties. During morning skate, Kent told them to be smart about their bullshit during the game.

“Are you meditating?”

Kent blinks at the road in front of them. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jeff says.

“No, what were you saying?”

“I just asked if you wanted to listen to something else,” Jeff says and nods at the radio. Metallica is playing, but softly, background noise, as much as Metallica can be background noise.

Jeff likes to listen to that kinda stuff before games – the more yelling, the better. Sometimes Kent will offer to give him a ride to the arena just so they can listen to different music. They could obviously go separately, but Kent is so used to them going together that he’s almost superstitious about it. It feels weird when Jeff isn’t there.

Jeff was out with the flu for a game in January and Kent was already on his way to Jeff’s house to pick him up when he realized that he could just head straight to the arena.

Kent didn’t like the feeling.

“No, it’s fine,” Kent mutters. If Jeff wants Metallica, he can have Metallica.

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just passed up a chance to play Britney in my car,” Jeff says. “How could I not be worried about you?”

Kent swats Jeff’s thigh.

“We’ll be okay,” Jeff says.

“I know,” Kent replies.

“You’ll score a goal.”

“You, too.”

Jeff nods. “We’ll be okay,” he says again.

Kent didn’t even know how much he needed to hear him say that.

He doesn’t want to think about what’s going to happen if they lose this game. The mood in the locker room this morning was grim, almost like they were already down 3-0 in the series, like tonight it’ll all be over if they lose. They can’t afford to think like that.

He’s glad that the guys mostly look determined when they get to the arena.

They’re not done.

It’s not over yet.

 

 

_Game 4_

 

After their two games in Vegas, the series is tied and Kent feels like he can breathe again.

When he talks to the media he tells them that he knew they had it in them, he tells them that they’ll fight to win this series, that he knows that every single person in the room wants it, that they’re willing to put in the work. They knew the Schooners weren’t going to be an easy opponent. No opponent is easy in the playoffs. He says all that with confidence, like he thought all along that this was the only possible outcome of their two home games.

Nobody knows that it kept him up last night.

Nobody knows that he seriously considered calling Jeff at two in the morning because he couldn’t stand being alone with his thoughts.

And nobody knows that he slipped out of bed and found Kit and hugged her for a long, long time. Until she sank her claws into his arm and meowed at him accusingly because he dared to rouse her at this hour.

“Chocolate fudge?” Jeff asks when they get into his car.

Kent just wants to go to sleep, but he also wants Jeff to come home with him, so he says, “I have chocolate chips at home,” and Jeff takes them both to Kent’s place.

Kit at first glares when Kent comes home with a friend, but doesn’t protest when Jeff picks her up and kisses the top of her head before setting her back down. He marches into Kent’s kitchen like he lives here and Kent sits down at the kitchen island, head pillowed on his folded arms.

“Are you gonna fall asleep over there?” Jeff asks as he goes looking for a pot and the chocolate chips.

“Nah.”

“What do you wanna put it on?”

“Ice cream.”

Jeff, that vegetable-loving dork, doesn’t even protest. They pulled off an impossible 6-1 win tonight and they deserve all the ice cream in the world.

Kent stays awake somehow, listening to Jeff hum their goal song under his breath as he gets them two bowls of ice cream and pours a generous amount of chocolate fudge on them.

They eat it in the living room and Kent puts on the movie they didn’t end up finishing during the break they had between the second round and Conference Finals. He scrapes up every bit of chocolate fudge he can find, hums in Jeff’s general direction, which is supposed to be a thank you and which Jeff will recognize as such and then flops down, his head ending up on Jeff’s thigh.

Jeff laughs quietly and gives Kent’s head a pat. “Tired, Cap?”

“I didn’t sleep a lot last night,” Kent mumbles.

“Oh,” Jeff says and runs his fingers through Kent’s hair again, which Kent knew he would do if he told him the truth. It’s really the only reason he said it and he doesn’t even feel bad about it. “Hey, are you gonna grow a mullet?”

“Shut up,” Kent grumbles. He should have gotten a haircut right before the playoffs, but he didn’t and now he’s starting to look increasingly ridiculous.

Jeff just looks shaggy and he can also grow a proper beard, which Kent can only dream off. He’ll put up with the patchy mess on his face because it’s the playoffs and having the patchy mess on his face means that they’ve gone far and that they’re still playing hockey, but that doesn’t mean that he loves it.

“No, I think a mullet is a great idea,” Jeff goes on and tugs at a strand of Kent’s hair.

Kent pushes at Jeff’s hand, but it’s half-hearted. He’s too tired. “Shush.”

Jeff cackles. “It’s okay. Go to sleep, little baby.”

“You’re stupid,” Kent grumbles.

“Actually, don’t go to sleep, you’re still wearing half your suit. Remember, we’re too old to sleep on couches in our clothes.”

“Don’t care.”

“Parse.”

“You’re not my real mom.”

“Okay. I’m going home now,” Jeff says.

“No, you’re my pillow.”

“Here,” Jeff says and whacks him in the face with an actual pillow.

“You’re mean.”

“I know. I drove you home and made you chocolate fudge, I’m the worst person in the world.”

“Hm,” says Kent. “The absolute worst.”

 

 

_Game 5_

 

It’s back to Seattle for Game 5 and Kent and Jeff spend the night before the game ordering room service and watching basketball, because it’ll bring Jeff joy and when Jeff is happy, Jeff sets him up on the best goals.

Kent doesn’t mind basketball that much anyway. Jeff grumbles at the TV like they can hear him and it’s very… Jeff. One of those little Jeff things that he does so much that Kent barely even notices them anymore. He ends up watching Jeff shove chicken and vegetables into his mouth, his eyes never leaving the TV. There’s sauce on Jeff’s chin and he’s, objectively, the most unattractive person in the room, but Kent has such a hard time looking away.

“What?” Jeff says eventually.

“You’ve got sauce all over your face,” Kent says. “Looks like you have chicken pox or some shit.”

Jeff wipes his mouth with his sleeve, like a fucking neanderthal.

“You’re gross,” Kent tells him, like that’s news to either of them. They’re hockey players. They’re gross most of the time. 

Really, it takes less than twenty-four hours for Kent to be covered in blood.

He takes an elbow to the face and then falls and lands on someone’s stick, so his nose is bleeding and his temple is bleeding when he skates over to the bench to let someone clean him up. The good news is that his nose isn’t broken and that they’re going on the power play, the bad news is that the power play goal they subsequently score doesn’t help them win the game.

That just means that they have to win the next game. They can do that. Kent knows they can. He tells them that in the locker room and gets enveloped in a squishy goalie embrace when Sunny comes up to him, all gear still on, and shouts, “Fuck yeah, boys!”

They’ll go back to Vegas.

They’ll win.

Jeff hovers close-by after the game, his eyes on Kent, darting from Kent’s nose to where he was bleeding all over his face because someone’s stick ended up under his visor.

“You okay?” Jeff asks, voice low.

Kent nods. “It’s not broken.”

“It looked pretty rough.”

What that really means, Kent knows, is that it looked like it might be a lot worse. What it means, too, is that Jeff was worried. “I’m fine,” Kent says.

“Good,” Jeff says, smiles a little, and looks away for the first time since they got off the ice.

 

 

_Game 6_

 

Jeff calls him the night before Game 6. It’s not too late, just late enough that Kent is already in bed, Kit snoozing on him, the TV on, with an analysis of the Eastern Conference game from earlier.

Kent mutes the TV and picks up the phone.

“I tried to sleep,” Jeff says. No hello, no how are you. “I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can.”

Jeff doesn’t reply, which means that’s not what he wanted to hear.

“What’s wrong?” Kent says. “Scared of losing?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. Either way, someone’s walking away with a win tomorrow and I’ll sure as fuck do everything I can to make sure that it’ll be us.”

Again, Jeff doesn’t reply, but it’s a different kind of silence.

Kent gets it. He does. There’s a chance that he’ll turn off the lights in half an hour and that he’ll stare at the ceiling for a few hours, thinking about all the tape he watched, wondering how the game will go, going through all possibilities, until he passes the fuck out.

“Just close your eyes, dude,” Kent says. “You’ll sleep, I swear.”

“What if we lose?”

“I don’t want that attitude from you, Jeff,” Kent says.

“I know. And I won’t show up with that attitude tomorrow. Just for two minutes, can we… What if we lose?”

“We’ll go through the five stages of grief and we’ll try again next year.”

Jeff laughs. “Shit.” He sighs. “I hate being down in a series.”

“I know,” Kent says. It’s a brand new feeling for them, at least this season. They’ve been down in a series plenty of times before and they’ve lost plenty of playoff series, too, but they practically breezed through the first two rounds and now the playoffs aren’t all that breezy anymore.

“I don’t want it to be like last time,” Jeff says. “That’s what I keep thinking about, you know? The last time we made it to Conference Finals and we lost.”

Kent remembers Jeff’s face when they lost that series. He doesn’t want to see that look on Jeff’s face ever again.

“We’re so close,” Jeff says. “And I can’t stop thinking, you know, how many more times are we going to make it this far?”

“Don’t even go there,” Kent says, because he’s been thinking about exactly that way too much. “Just think about…” He runs his fingers through Kit’s fur. “Fluffy kittens.”

“Sorry, I don’t have any of those around right how,” Jeff mumbles.

“Come over, I’ll share mine.”

Jeff huffs.

“Seriously,” Kent says. “If you want to come over–”

“No,” Jeff says quickly. “I need to sleep. I’ll… I’ll be okay. Thanks, Parse. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. I’ll leave the lights on if you change your mind.”

After a moment of silence, Jeff just says, “Good night, I’ll pick you up for morning skate.”

“Okay,” Kent says. “Good night.”

He doesn’t know why he’s disappointed that Jeff didn’t consider his offer to come over. Jeff probably thought he was kidding. Maybe Kent _was_ kidding, but now that it’s quiet and it’s time to sleep, Kent honestly wouldn’t mind not being alone.

As promised, Jeff leaves his attitude at home the day after.

When he picks up Kent, he’s listening to Queen, which usually means that he’s in a good mood.

“Did you sleep?” Kent asks.

“Yeah. You?”

Kent clings to his travel mug like it’s the Holy Grail. It’s an Aces mug and it’s full of coffee with a fuckton of sugar. “Eventually.”

Jeff reaches over to ruffle Kent’s hair and Kent doesn’t tell him off for doing it.

Jeff can do what he wants.

Because Jeff single-handedly wins them Game 6. He draws two penalties that end up getting the Aces two power play goals, he assists on both of Kent’s goals and then scores the empty-netter.

After the game, Kent hugs him until PR very politely ask him to let go of Jeff so he can talk to the media.

 

 

_Game 7_

 

“If one more person asks me what we need to do to get to the final round, I’m gonna lose my whole entire shit,” Kent says as they head to the bus that’ll take them back to the hotel. “Like? What do they want me to say? We need to win the game, _obviously_.”

Jeff cackles, but that’s just about the last positive reaction Kent gets out of him before the game.

They lie down for their pregame nap at the same time. They have matching routines on the road until they get to the arena, which is where their ways usually part, because Jeff will head to the bench to tape his sticks. As for the pregame nap, Kent usually goes right to sleep, especially during playoffs, when constant exhaustion is basically a given, but Kent hears Jeff tossing and turning for a while.

“Calm down, dude,” Kent mumbles after a few minutes.

“Sorry,” Jeff says. “Fuck, sorry.”

Kent turns over to look at Jeff, who’s looking back at him, face half-hidden by his pillow.

“I really want to win,” Jeff says.

Which… yeah, of course he wants to win. They all want to win. Kent knows the feeling, though, because it’s not just wanting to win, it’s also not knowing what the hell you’ll do with yourself if you don’t. The closer you get, the more suffocating it is, that threat of your summer starting too soon, and the further you get into the playoffs, the harder it stings when you lose a series.

They’re one win away from the final round. Which means they need to take a fucking nap, so they’re not too exhausted to destroy the Schooners tonight.

“Just give me the captain bullshit,” Jeff says. “Tell me all the nice, encouraging stuff.”

“Okay, so… we’ll do our best tonight and we’ll have fun out there and we’ll fight until the very last minute,” Kent says, “like we’ve been fighting all season.”

Jeff nods and closes his eyes.

“I’m proud of you,” Kent says, “and everything you did this season.”

Jeff squints at him. “That’s, like, a personalized version, huh?”

“It’s weird if I say that I’m proud of everyone in this room.”

Eyes closed again, Jeff smiles. “You should, though.”

Kent hums.

They fall asleep, both of them. And they’re a little bleary-eyed when both their alarms start to ring, and they don’t talk much when they get on their suits, but Jeff smiles at him before they leave and Kent gets this feeling that they’ll make it, that somehow they’ll find a way.

That feeling disappears when they go into the first intermission down by two, but Kent wants that feeling back, so he goes out there and scores ten seconds into the second period.

And then again two minutes later.

Then Scraps scores.

Then Jeff.

Before the clock runs down – forty seconds to their 4-2 win – Jeff leans over to him and asks, “Are we gonna touch the trophy?”

“We did last time,” Kent says. “I’m gonna put my grubby hands all over it.”

Jeff bumps his shoulder against his.

Their guys line up for a faceoff in their zone. On the other end of the ice, the net is empty.

They almost get the empty netter. Kent can practically see it slide in, their entire bench on their feet, but then it goes an inch wide.

Kent goes out for a face-off. It’s a short shift. No goals scored.

He’s back on the bench, their second line on the ice and the clock is running down, merciless, but in their favor this time, as they get closer and closer to the Stanley Cup Finals with every passing second. Jeff’s arms wrap around him with a few seconds still left on the clock.

There’s nothing quite like it – seeing the clock run down, your teammates screaming in your ears, the exhaustion after a game like this, a battle from puck drop to the final horn.

They go through the handshake line and the Schooners thank their fans, sticks up, but they disappear quickly afterwards when the Campbell Bowl comes out. Kent picks it up, just like he did last time, much to the amusement of the deputy commissioner, who’s often enough the only guy who ends up touching it.

And Kent definitely loves all of his teammates equally, but when they all come over to take a picture with the trophy, Kent grabs Jeff to make sure that he’s next to him.

Just like last time.

 

* * *

 

 

**Round 4**

 

_Game 1_

 

Kent isn’t thinking about kissing Jeff for good luck before their first game.

He isn’t thinking about it on their day off, when Jeff is lounging on his sofa, shoving pizza into his mouth. He isn’t thinking about it on the plane. He isn’t thinking about it when they practice in Boston the day before the game and he isn’t thinking about it when they go to sleep in their hotel room that night.

He for sure isn’t thinking about it during morning skate.

Or when they lie down for their pregame nap.

Or when they get ready to head out, putting on their suits, straightening their ties.

He isn’t thinking about it when Jeff hesitates by the door. Kent doesn’t urge him to get a move on. They’re not running late. He stops right next to Jeff, looking up at him with raised eyebrows.

“The last time we made the finals…” Jeff eventually says.

“Yeah,” Kent says

“Should we…?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously?”

“For good luck,” Kent says with a shrug.

Jeff laughs and leans down without hesitation. It’s a quick kiss. It’s over before Kent can even start to examine how exactly he’s feeling about it. It’s probably for the best, because if he had time to think about it, he might realize that he’s liking it way too much.

Afterwards nothing changes, just like last time. They get on the bus, Jeff next to him, turned away because he’s heckling Riot, and when they get to the arena, he gives Kent a pat on the back before he disappears to tape his sticks.

The guys are excited to get out there.

Four more games.

Kent has been here before.

A bunch of them have been here before, some with other teams, some a long time ago, some only recently, but the Aces have changed quite a bit ever since they last made it to the Cup Finals in 2012.

There’s only five guys left that were on that team, the rest retired, got traded or eventually signed with other teams when they became free agents.

They’ve been making the playoffs pretty consistently, except for that one year when everything that could go to shit did go to shit. Kent doesn’t like thinking about that year. It was a mess from start to finish. He was out for such a long period of time and he still feels guilty about it. Not that he’s the only one scoring goals on this team, not that they can’t manage without him for a few games. He has been their leading scorer almost every season, though. He won the Art Ross last year.

He’s worth his money.

That’s why he scores a goal and sets up two others. Coach isn’t happy with him, though, because he decides to block a shot late in the third – the score is 4–3 in their favor, so they couldn’t afford to be scored on. Nobody wanted that game to go into overtime. And yet, Kent apparently wasn’t supposed to get in the way of that puck.

Granted, it fucking stings, and he goes down, stays on the ice for a moment and tries to breathe through it.

“Parse.”

Kent doesn’t reply, because that would require some effort right now.

“Hey…” Jeff’s face appears next to his, along with a hand on his back. “Can you get up?”

Kent grunts something that might be a yes – he’s honestly not so sure about it right now – and then stays on the ice for another second. It’s quiet in the arena, even though they’re not at home. Kent has seen this before. Doesn’t matter where you are. When it looks bad, it gets quiet.

He really needs to get up. It’s not bad. Honestly, it’s not.

He grabs Jeff’s arm and Jeff helps pull him to his feet. It wasn’t a hard shot. He’ll be fine, he just needs a minute. That’s what he tells Coach when he gets to the bench, but Coach still chews him out during the intermission. Kent will probably end up with a bruise the size of Texas, but other than that he’ll be fine.

“You do know that we don’t have a chance of winning another three games without you, right?” Jeff says after the game.

“Eh, you could do it,” Kent says with a wink.

“Parse.”

“I know,” Kent says. He throws an arm around Jeff. “I won’t do it again, I promise. I think Coach would kill me if I did anyway.”

Jeff laughs.

Kent can’t look away.

 

 

_Game 2_

 

“Shit, that bruise is nasty.”

“It’s fine,” Kent mutters. They checked him out and it really is just a bruise. He got lucky there. At this point he’d probably keep playing, no matter what, unless it was an injury that could literally kill him or cut his career short if it didn’t get treated immediately.

Jeff’s eyes are still on him, but he doesn’t say another word.

“Seriously,” Kent says and grabs his tie. “I’m totally fine.”

“Yeah, but… they’re already trying to run you into the ground. What if you get hit and they get you right there and…”

Kent shrugs. That’s just part of the game. It’s not like it’ll get any worse, it’ll just hurt like hell. He’ll deal.

Jeff presses his lips together, because he clearly doesn’t like how Kent becomes everyone’s favorite target this time of year, but Kent can handle it. He’s been handling it for a long time. It’s not like it’s any different during the regular season. Everyone comes for him and he’s not exactly huge, but he’s often fast enough to get out of the way before someone can run him into the boards. Now that they’re at the other end of the postseason, though, Kent isn’t quite as fast as he is during the regular season.

They’re all tired. When he woke up from his pregame nap earlier, he just wanted to go right back to sleep. He wants to sleep all the fucking time, but that’s just playoffs. It’s all sleeping, eating, watching tape and playing hockey, and there isn’t room for much else in between. He wouldn’t have it any other way, though.

“Just be careful,” Jeff says, minutes later, when Kent is already dressed, the conversation about his boo-boos mostly forgotten.

“Swoops, honeybun, I always am.”

Jeff rolls his eyes at him.

It’s funny how Kent is constantly worried about his own guys, but can’t help but think it’s a joke when his guys are worried about him. He’s the captain, he’s Kent Parson, and he’s always okay. He’s like a parent who doesn’t want his kids to worry about all the scary adult things that are going on.

“Ready?” Jeff asks, then glances over. “Where are your shoes?”

“Fuck knows,” Kent mutters. He ducks down and gets them from under the bed, trying not to wince when he straightens up again.

The look on Jeff’s face isn’t so much judgmental as it is pitying.

“I’m fine,” Kent tells him again.

“You’re putting ice on that later.”

“Yes, mother.” Kent quickly ties his shoes and makes for the door, quickly stopping in his tracks when Jeff grabs him by the wrist. His heart skips a beat, hopeful, waiting for another good luck kiss.

“Wait, your tie looks so fucking messy,” Jeff says and then starts dicking around with Kent’s tie. Which is fine. Jeff can fix his tie, because for some reason Kent forgot to even look in the mirror before he proclaimed himself ready to head out. “Okay, much better.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“Can we go now?” Kent asks.

Jeff’s eyes dart to the door, then back to Kent. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Kent says and leans in to kiss him, because even if he hadn’t spent all day waiting for this, he’s pretty much talked himself into this superstition and wouldn’t risk walking out that door without kissing Jeff. He plants a kiss right on Jeff’s lips, makes it a quick one, like yesterday, and says, “For good luck.”

Which is completely unnecessary, but if Jeff knew that Kent actually wanted to kiss him, good luck or not, all of this would fall apart within seconds. It’s a stupid superstition and it can’t be anything else. Kent can never admit that he wants it to be something else.

It’s been seven years. Maybe Jeff did want him back then, maybe he had a feeling or two, but Kent shot him down fast after the playoffs were over and they spent that summer apart, and afterwards they were back to who they were before their first good luck kiss and that’s how it should stay. So all these kisses? For good luck. Kent will get a maximum of seven, a minimum of four. And that has to be enough.

And, what can he say, it somehow works.

Jeff definitely had a point about him being a target, even more so than he usually is, because they also know how to analyze video in Boston, and they definitely know all his weak spots, but it doesn’t matter that he’s aching all over when they leave the ice that night, because they’re leaving with a win.

Kent sinks into his stall after, definitely ready to fall asleep right there. He knows he’ll have to get up again and get out of his gear and he’ll have to talk to the media and he’ll have to take a shower and get on the bus and on the plane, and then… Thank fuck for Jeff, because he’s going to drive him home once they’re back in Vegas. Maybe he’ll even make him chocolate fudge.

Jeff comes up behind him, knocks his knuckles against Kent’s arms.

Sunny passes their feather boa on to Scraps, who scored the game winner for them that night, and Scraps, with the grumpiest face of all time, lets Sunny put it around his neck.

The feather boa was Sunny’s brainchild. Kent wishes he’d come up with it, because it’s one of the most Vegas things you could think of, and it’s absolutely wild how some of the guys love that thing and how some of them would instantly chuck it into a fire if they could. It’s actually their third boa of the season, because sometimes the guys got a little rough with it and their equipment manager nearly murdered them when they destroyed one in Vegas on New Year’s Eve.

They probably won’t get to bring it back next season.

 

 

_Game 3_

 

The playoffs aren’t a rollercoaster that only goes up. Kent knows that. His guys know that.

They weren’t expecting to sweep Boston.

But when they’re back in Vegas, back on home ice, and Boston come out and score twice within the first five minutes, it feels like a punch in the gut. They were all feeling good about this series, even though they’re all tired, even though most of them aren’t a hundred percent.

Jeff, next to him, is chewing on his mouth guard, definitely pissed off, definitely in the mood to punch someone in the face. Which will likely end with him getting kicked out of the game and they can’t afford that today.

Kent scoots closer to him, bumps his shoulder against Jeff’s. Jeff stops chewing for a moment, glances at him and sighs. Jeff gave him a ride to the game – Kent drove them to morning skate – and he came up the front steps instead of just waiting in the car, and he slipped into the house, closed the door behind him and kissed Kent, and maybe Kent was imagining things, but there’s a chance, if he wasn’t hallucinating, that today’s kiss lasted at least two or three seconds longer than the other two.

It doesn’t do them much good in the end.

Their usually so enthusiastic Vegas crowd has gone pretty quiet by the time they’re down 5-1 halfway through the third.

It gets impossibly quieter when Jeff gets run into the boards. Boston’s Remi Tremblay goes right into the numbers. Jeff never sees him coming. The whistle goes and Kent takes off to fucking strangle Tremblay, but it looks like Scraps got there first. He has Tremblay on his back within seconds, so Kent can go straight to Jeff, who’s on all fours.

A tiny droplet of blood splashes onto the ice.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Kent says when Jeff gets to his feet.

“I’m okay,” Jeff says.

Kent wraps his arm around him anyway. Jeff has a cut on his face, probably from someone’s stick, because there were two other guys over in the corner with him. Kent takes Jeff across the ice, glad that Jeff is barely holding on to him. Jeff has barely sat down on the bench, trying to get it together, when he gets pulled off the bench and sent down the tunnel. Probably for concussion testing. Fuck, Jeff can’t have another concussion.

Coach shuffles the lines, because Jeff won’t come back out before the end of the game, and their fourth line manages to score another goal before the clock runs down, but it’s still a rough loss for them.

Kent has to do an interview on the ice after the game, so his guys trail off without him. He tries to be optimistic, because they’re leading the series and it’s not like they’re cocky assholes who think they won’t lose a single game. He does not say the words cocky assholes, he says it in interview speak, which he’s had enough time to perfect over the years, so it sounds more boring and he doesn’t have to read about how he’s not taking his role seriously on the internet in a couple of hours.

He made a joke in a pregame interview once, right after he first got the C, and the media tore him to shreds. He’s learned since then, he knows when he can make his jokes and be Las Vegas’s Prince Charming and when he needs to take it down a notch.

He’s the last one who gets back to the locker room and a bunch of the guys, still in their gear, have crowded around Jeff, who’s already showered, back in his suit, smiling a little.

Scraps is the last one to wander away, giving Jeff a very gentle tap on the head with his still-gloved hand.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“No concussion?”

“Nope.”

Kent looks at him for a long moment to see if he’s lying, if he’s somehow convinced their training staff to let him play through a mild concussion.

“I don’t have any symptoms.”

“Right now,” Kent says, because he knows those symptoms might show up tomorrow. “I’ll drive you home.”

“With my car?”

“I know how to drive stick.”

“You’re not driving my car,” Jeff says.

Kent does end up driving his car and he only stalls the engine once. Jeff only cries about it a little.

 

 

_Game 4_

 

Game 4 is a nightmare. And not the kind of nightmare where they allow six goals and get shut out. It’s the kind of nightmare where they almost make it.

The last good thing that happens to Kent that day is when he pulls into Jeff’s driveway and Jeff opens his front door and waves him inside. And maybe today’s kiss is longer than the three before. And maybe Jeff’s smile nearly kills him when Kent pulls away and says, “For good luck.” It doesn’t help them win the game.

They go into overtime, tied at two.

Nobody scores.

They go into a second overtime.

Everyone’s dead on their feet. The good news is that they’ll have more time off before the next game because it’s the final round and they’ll go back to Boston for Game 5.

Kent nearly ends it a few minutes into their second overtime, but it goes off the crossbar.

They lose the game three minutes before the end of the second overtime. It’s an unlucky bounce and there’s no way Sunny could have caught it. He tells Sunny not to beat himself up about it. He also tries not to beat himself up about not scoring that goal

 

 

_Game 5_

 

They all go out for dinner together the night before Game 5 and Kent pays, because if there’s one thing his boys like it’s free food, which is in second place right after free booze. They head back to the hotel early, everyone tired, a lot of them a little banged up, but all of them in good spirits.

Their series is tied. They’re still in.

It’s not even nine yet when Kent and Jeff are back in their room. It’s a mess because half the team was hanging out in here after practice. Jeff, dutiful as ever, cleans up most of the mess while Kent is in the bathroom and then flops into bed with a groan.

“Is it too early to go to sleep?” Jeff asks.

“Nah,” Kent says. He takes off his pants and lets himself fall into bed, too, face smushed into his pillow, arms and legs stretched out. “Fuck, I’m gonna sleep for a week when this is over.”

“Wow, same,” Jeff says. “Maybe even two weeks.”

“A month,” Kent says. He turns his head to look at Jeff, who’s probably about to fall asleep with his jeans still on. Jeff’s hair is so long now – Kent’s, too, but he looks terrible and Jeff looks like a god. Especially since he also has that beard going for him. Kent is almost twenty-nine years old and all he has on his face is a bit of fuzz.

“What?” Jeff asks.

“Huh?”

“You’re looking at me. I can tell.”

“Dude, that’s fucking creepy,” Kent says.

Jeff grins. “You’re staring at me. That’s creepy.”

“I was just admiring your playoff haircut.”

“Hmm, you think I should go for a bun? I think I could put it in a bun,” Jeff muses and sits up. “Hey, do you have a… hair thing.”

“No, Jeff, I do not have a _hair thing_.”

Jeff huffs and shakes his head, hair flying everywhere. “You’re just jealous because I look really hot.”

Stupid Jeff. He does look really hot. “Shut up,” Kent mutters.

“It’s okay, Parse, I’m sure there’s still plenty of people who are lusting after you.”

Kent shrugs, because… whatever. The only person he wants lusting after him is Jeff and Jeff is just… kissing him for good luck. He doesn’t kiss him the way he was kissing him seven years ago. There was tongue seven years ago. There were hands on his ass before Game 7. It was more than just one little kiss. Or at least it grew into something more over the course of that final playoff series.

And, Kent hates to admit this, but he was hoping that it would be the same this time around. He was hoping that one day Jeff would just lean closer and wrap his arms around him and kiss him breathless.

The next day, when they’re ready to head out, and Jeff stops by the door, waiting for Kent to join him there, Kent steps up to him and kisses him, and pulls away, and says, “For good luck,” and then leans in again, and kisses him one more time, and if Jeff is surprised he doesn’t show it. He kisses Kent back, just like that, and grins when Kent says, “That one was for good luck, too.”

Jeff nods and kisses him again. “Okay, that one, too.”

“Okay,” Kent echoes. He could just keep going, but they’re about to be late and he can hear some of their guys laughing in the hallway, so it’s definitely time to go.

The Boston crowd welcomes them with resounding boos and Kent can’t stop himself from grinning and waving at them when they go out for warmups. He hears someone behind him cackling. He’s pretty sure it’s Jeff.

They don’t take it easy on the Aces that night. Kent gets checked into the boards so often that he’s pretty sure he’s just a gigantic bruise now. He manages to draw a couple of penalties and their power play is on fire tonight. They’re up 3-2 at the end of the third and when Scraps takes off towards Boston’s empty net, they’re all on their feet and Jeff is right behind Kent, his arms already thrown around Kent, bouncing up and down when Scraps gently guides the puck into the net. He wasn’t taking any chances there.

“One more,” Jeff shouts into his ear and squeezes him.

Kent is aching all over, but he’s barely feeling it right now.

 

 

_Game 6_

 

It’s the strangest feeling to go into a game knowing that if you win it, you’ll win it all.

Kent spends every single second between their win in Boston and the start of the next game in Vegas trying to keep himself from thinking about winning. It’s a dangerous thing to do, to think about lifting the Cup now. It’ll distract him from what he really needs to focus on right now – playing the game.

Coach gives them a day off after they come back from Boston and their practice the day after is optional. Kent doesn’t skate. Because he’s still a big bruise.

He’s the first one on the ice for their morning skate on game day, though. They all have lunch at the rink and afterwards he drives Jeff home, but when they’re in the driveway and Jeff unbuckles his seatbelt, Kent finds himself saying, “Hey, you wanna grab your suit and come to my place?”

It’s not part of Jeff’s pregame routine to hang out at Kent’s house. It’s not part of Kent’s pregame routine to have Jeff around. But if they were on the road, they’d hang out together right now and Kent doesn’t want to go back home by himself.

“Oh,” Jeff says. He hesitates, but only for a second or two. “Sure, give me a few minutes.”

Kent turns up the radio while he waits and Jeff looks pained when he slides back into the passenger seat, now with a huge suit bag in his lap.

“You wanna listen to something else?” Kent asks.

“Just drive so I don’t have to endure this for much longer.”

Kent laughs and pulls back out of Jeff’s driveway. The ride to his place is a short one. They’re on his couch ten minutes later and Jeff has Kit on his chest, scratching her head while Kent just lies there, staring at them, not capable of doing much more than that.

“Which suit did you bring?” Kent asks.

“The gray one.”

“Hmm... Which tie?”

Jeff laughs. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know what to wear tonight. Like, do I go for the same one as the last time we won in Boston, or should I wear just a completely random one or…”

“Or?”

“Or…” Kent grabs his phone. “What did I wear when we won the Cup?”

“Please, you don’t have that suit anymore.”

“But I have the tie. I must have kept it. Right?”

He doesn’t wait for Jeff’s reply, he starts googling pictures from the day they won the Cup. He recognizes the tie. He knows he still has it. It takes him half an hour to find it – in a box that’s labelled Cup Shit 2k12 – but he returns to Jeff triumphant.

“Well, I guess nothing can go wrong now,” Jeff says.

Kent grins. “Knock on wood right now, you ass.”

Jeff doesn’t believe in knocking on wood, but he still reaches down to knock on the hardwood floor to humor Kent. It’s good to have him here, because he keeps Kent from driving himself crazy. He told the media this morning that they’ll have to treat this like any other game, but that they’ll also have to expect Boston to give their all. It’s an elimination game for them and they’ll be wanting to take this series back home for a Game 7.

He tells Jeff to tell him about space, which he does, for about two minutes and then he trails off and talks about his parents, who will be watching the game in Sweden, which is where Jeff’s sister currently lives with her husband. She’s like three days away from giving birth. Kent’s mom can’t fly anymore, so it’s just him and Jeff today.

They take a nap on the couch and Kent wakes up when both their alarms start going off, his head now on the same pillow as Jeff’s. He knocks his head against Jeff’s. “Ready for this?”

“For your ugly ass pregame pasta? Sure.”

Kent snorts. “Hey, my pregame pasta is amazing.”

Really, his pregame pasta is just fine. Jeff needs to chill.

They get ready together, like they would on the road, and Kent puts on the tie he dug up and finds a suit to go with it. Jeff looks good in the gray suit, but Kent doesn’t tell him that, although Jeff might have a pretty easy time figuring out what Kent is thinking by the way Kent just stares at him for a minute before he snaps out of it and bends down to tie his shoes.

“So,” Kent says as they head to the door. “This might be it.”

Jeff looks around and quickly knocks on a wooden shelf. “Yeah,” he says.

It feels different today, leaning in to kiss him. Maybe because this might be it, because they might not have to kiss for good luck before a potential Game 7. Maybe because this is likely the last kiss for a while and Kent just… doesn’t pull away after the first kiss. Throughout this entire playoff series, Kent never touched Jeff when he kissed him. He kept his hands to himself, but today he doesn’t.

And as soon as his hands are on Jeff’s chest, and then on his neck, thumb brushing against his cheek, then in his hair, as soon as Kent says fuck it all, Jeff goes all in, too.

Now Jeff is kissing him like he did seven years ago.

He’s kissing Kent like this is the only thing that matters, like they don’t have a game to go to. It’s desperate, he can feel Jeff’s teeth against his lips, and it’s like they can’t get enough of each other now, because who knows if they’ll ever do this again and, “Fuck, I don’t ever wanna stop doing this,” Kent says, because he couldn’t just keep it in anymore. He doesn’t care what it means for them.

“Okay, let’s not stop doing this, then” Jeff says and kisses him again, and again, says, “For good luck.”

“All of them,” Kent says.

“All of them,” echoes Jeff and then kisses him one more time and adds, “That one was just for you, though.”

Kent laughs, just a little, and gives Jeff a kiss back, just for him. He feels impossibly optimistic, because, whatever happens tonight, win or lose, he’ll get to kiss Jeff again tomorrow.

Later that night, Kent lifts the Stanley Cup, after a 2-1 win in front of their home crowd in Las Vegas.

Once he’s taken his lap, he hands it to Jeff Troy, who really is the best good luck charm he’s ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated.


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